


Unspoken

by hermitknut



Category: Green Rider Series - Kristen Britain
Genre: Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-25 13:59:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13836231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermitknut/pseuds/hermitknut
Summary: Two boys come of age in Sacor City Keep, one kept quiet in the shadows of the other. But after all, how important could a second son be?Prequel to the Queen Rider sequence, should also work as a prequel to the regular series.





	1. The Worth of a Child

**Author's Note:**

> So I've taken a little bit of liberty with canon in this, as the actual sequence doesn't make sense to me. Specifically, I have altered the order of events re: Amilton being removed from power and then exiled. Other than that, this should slot in before the books.

The royal family of Sacoridia was perfect, of course. Royal families always are. Grandmother, father, mother, two sons. As the next generation of rulers could be seen, opinion of them rose. Prince Amigast would make a fine king. He blustered, certainly. A loud, bombastic sort of man. But above all, he expressed certainty. And his wife? Well, she was the epitome of grace and elegance. They made a lovely pair.

The two sons provided more of a puzzle, though it was one that would only really be noticed later on. Prince Amigast was, openly, very proud of his sons. Amilton was a wonder – a charming boy, enthusiastic, intelligent, charismatic. The perfect future king. And Zachary, of course, was everything a second son should be. To suggest otherwise would imply some sort of… lack. And that was unthinkable. Particularly around Amigast. He simply did not allow the room for it to be thought.

Such a shame that Prince Zachary was unwell this evening and could not attend. Oh, of course, Prince Zachary is not needed here – we do not disturb his studies for a social event like this. Of course, Amilton must attend, the social niceties are vital for the development of a king-to-be. No need to worry about his little brother.

And somehow, people never did.

When, much later on, Zachary was crowned king, a number of very important people suddenly realised a startling fact: they knew nothing about him. How could this have happened?

~

To set this story in its proper context, one must go back a generation or two, or perhaps further. Fortunately, ancestry has long been a preoccupation of the nobility, and so we are hardly lacking in information.

Queen Isen Hillander came to the throne at the striking age of eighteen, after four generations of male monarchy had left its mark on the collective imagination of the nobility. An only child whose Hillander Stewardship was in the hands of a non-family member (the young Lord Sperren) for the first time in a century, she was uniquely isolated. Her formidable will, however, was her salvation. Within three years of her coronation, her temper was feared across the country, and a strictness of form and common sense prevailed over the indulgence of previous reigns.

Only once her position and command were firmly solidified did she marry, at the age of twenty-nine, to an older man of a dwindling yet respectable noble household. A year later she had her first son, Amigast, followed two years after that by his younger brother, Emry.

The two brothers got along decently enough, despite their differences in temperament. Emry, the younger and more gregarious son, married first – to his elder brother’s envy. Emry’s son Leonar was born when Emry was only twenty-three, and the daughters followed swiftly after. Amigast married three years after his younger brother, a union that was much romanticised by the people but not quite as fruitful as had been hoped. Emry, sent to take over the stewardship of Hillander Province and settled in comfortably with his wife and five children, wrote back to his brother often, full of sympathy. Lady Serian, wife of Amigast, eventually granted him a firstborn – Amilton Hillander. But it was only after three miscarriages in three years that a second child was born, very nearly at the cost of his mother’s life and certainly to the detriment of her health from then on. 

Zachary Hillander’s birth was followed rather abruptly, and unfortunately, by the death of his uncle’s wife. From that point on, the family numbers stayed fairly consistent for a time as the children grew older.

And here we begin properly, at Sacor City Keep with the royal family in residence: Queen Isen, undaunted and unforgiving; Prince Amigast, brash and preoccupied; Lady Serian, fragile and contained; Prince Amilton, no longer the sole recipient of his parents’ attentions; and Prince Zachary, just starting out.

~

There were several conversations. One, repeated over and over down the years, went something like this:

‘Zachary, what is it this time?’

Zachary swallowed and tried to stand up straighter. His father looked at him over his desk, unimpressed. Zachary’s height only just allowed him to be properly seen in this way.

‘Amilton was hitting.’

Amigast sighed.

‘What did you do to annoy your brother?’ he said wearily.

The conversation had different details each time, but it always ended the same way. And each time, afterwards, there would be another, and it started with the following words:

‘I warned you not to tell.’

Then it varied. Older brothers can be many things, but a certain type of sibling can always be inventive.

Some conversations were more singular. Such as the one between the mender and the second son, aged eight. 

‘Zachary, open your eyes for me. I know you’re awake.’

Zachary opened his eyes immediately. He knew when to do what he was told. Mother always said you mustn’t lie to menders, even if you lied to everyone else. But that was a contradiction. Most things were.

The Chief Mender smiled gently at him.

‘How are we feeling?’ he asked. ‘Tired?’

Zachary nodded, and the Chief Mender nodded back.

‘We’ll let you get some more sleep soon. How about hungry – are you hungry?’

Zachary nodded again, more slowly this time.

After a little coaxing, porridge with honey was chosen – then it was sent for, and eaten with a reassuring promptness.

When the remains of the meal had been taken away, the Chief Mender smiled at Zachary again.

‘We need to have a little talk, you and I,’ he said. ‘Some of the things I need to ask you about may be a little frightening, but I promise it is fine to talk about them here.’

Zachary watched him, trying not to show the wariness he felt. Father told him it gave him ‘a nasty suspicious look’ when he showed it. The Chief Mender was watching him closely in return.

‘Zachary, can you tell me why you’re here?’ he asked.

Zachary thought about this one carefully.

‘I got very upset,’ he said. ‘And I couldn’t stop being… upset.’

‘You had hysterics, that’s right,’ said the Chief Mender. ‘You’ve described it very well, thank you. Now. Can you tell me what made you upset?’

Zachary thought about this even longer. There were traps and pitfalls here.

‘I don’t know,’ he said eventually. This was untrue, but adults generally accepted it. Particularly if there had been a very long pause before it. They got bored, probably.

The Chief Mender did not look bored.

‘Zachary, can you tell me what happened this morning? Start when you woke up and talk me through right up to when you got upset.’

‘I got up, and had breakfast. Then I was ill.’ Truths were best, especially if you missed things out. They were better than lies, which got you caught.

‘What sort of ill?’

Zachary chewed his lip, then stopped. Mother said well-behaved boys didn’t chew their lips – it was just a kind of fidgeting, and that wasn’t allowed.

‘I felt achy,’ he said vaguely. ‘Sometimes I get tired and… achy.’

The Chief Mender nodded.

‘I see,’ he said. ‘That must be upsetting. We’ll have a chat about that later, but for now: what happened after you were ill?’

Zachary looked away.

‘I was on my own, and I… I did something bad.’

‘What did you do?’

Somewhere in that very quiet heart, a spark of defiance flared for a moment. Zachary met the Chief Mender’s eyes.

‘I got the paint from downstairs and I threw it all over Amilton’s room.’

It had been glorious. The paint was white and thick and the bucket had been heavy, left behind by the workers redecorating a small part of the royal quarters. Zachary had been watching when they left a few nights ago. They left their things behind so that they didn’t have to carry them in and out every day. He had hauled it up to Amilton’s room, being careful to avoid any servants. Then he had taken the cover off, took the bucket by the bottom and the handle, and threw it everywhere. 

After a few spins, the paint had got almost everywhere important. Tapestries, door, Amilton’s bed, his desk and chair – a bit had even splattered over the nice clean glass of the window. And naturally, quite a bit of it had ended up on Zachary. There was no helping that. He had then gone over to the wardrobe, pulled out as many of Amilton’s clothes as he could, tossed them over the room, and used a few of them to wipe out the bucket, just to make sure he had used it all up. 

Then he had, quite calmly, walked out and found a cupboard to hide him until his father sent the Black Shields to find him.

‘I see. What happened then?’

Zachary thought that the answer was rather an obvious one. After all, it happened all the time, whether he meant it to or not.

‘I got in trouble.’

‘How so?’

Zachary hesitated. 

‘I had to go to father’s study,’ he said slowly. ‘And father shouted at me. And I got upset. And now I’m here.’

The Chief Mender gave him another nod, and a reassuring smile.

‘That was a very good explanation, thank you Zachary. Could I ask a question?’

Zachary nodded cautiously.

‘Why did you throw paint in your brother’s room?’

There were a hundred answers, and there was also just one. Zachary didn’t share any of these with the Chief Mender, however.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. The Chief Mender raised his eyebrows.

‘I think you do, Zachary. I would like to know too. I have a guess, and I would like to know if I’m right. And if I am, I would like to do something about it.’

Zachary didn’t respond to this at all. Statements didn’t need answers. The Chief Mender tried again.

‘Zachary, your father seemed to think that you and Amilton argue a great deal,’ he said carefully. ‘Are these shouting arguments, or do they ever get physical?’

‘I don’t argue with Amilton.’ The words spilled out, and Zachary quickly clamped his mouth shut again. This was why he was always in trouble with father, he always disagreed. But the Chief Mender didn’t seem angry. On the contrary, he gave that reassuring smile again.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Why did you decide to throw paint in his room? Did he do something to upset you?’

Dangerous ground.

‘Amilton’s a good person,’ he said quietly. Words learnt by rote. ‘Sometimes we argue a bit, but it’s just what brothers do.’

‘I see.’

There was a little stretch of silence. The Chief Mender watched Zachary thoughtfully.

‘Sometimes big brothers take it too far, though,’ he suggested. ‘Sometimes people don’t realise how much bigger they are.’

Zachary stayed quiet.

‘Zachary, please tell me the truth. It won’t leave this room.’

The Chief Mender sat patiently while Zachary chewed this over.

‘He broke the glass people,’ Zachary said eventually, his voice quiet, not looking at the Chief Mender.

‘The glass people?’ came the soft question.

‘My glass people. Grandmother gave them to me. They were grandfather’s. Little glass people, on the shelf in my room. I promised her I’d look after them.’

‘I see.’

But that wasn’t quite the truth. Amilton hadn’t broken the glass figures, not exactly. He had made Zachary do it. And then they had been called to come to breakfast, and Zachary had felt very very calm, and he knew exactly what he was going to do. 

He had never taken revenge on Amilton before. 

He was still trying to decide if it was worth it.

The Chief Mender spoke again.

‘Zachary, is your brother often mean to you?’

Zachary felt shaken. Adults didn’t say things like this. They said other things. He repeated one of them.

‘Amilton doesn’t do anything wrong,’ he said. ‘I’m just annoying and he’s still learning to grow up.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘Everybody says that.’

‘Hm. Do you know what I think?’

Zachary shook his head, slowly.

‘I think they might be incorrect,’ the Chief Mender said. ‘I think perhaps Amilton does do things wrong, sometimes. You don’t argue. No, I don’t think you do. But I think something like an argument or a fight happens quite often. Only it’s all one-sided. Am I close to the truth?’

Zachary stared determinedly at the blankets, but he felt his lip wobble a bit. It was true, after all. 

‘If I’ve guessed correctly, it isn’t as though you’ve told me anything,’ the Chief Mender suggested. Zachary said nothing to this.

‘Zachary, Amilton shouldn’t hurt you. It’s wrong that he does. And it is absolutely reasonable for you to be upset about it.’

Zachary, sitting up in the bed, pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. The Chief Mender let the two of them sit in silence for a little while. Then, after he had almost given up on this particular pause, Zachary spoke in a very small voice.

‘I’m not supposed to tell tales on Amilton. Father says I’m making up stories and its bad.’

‘Do you make up stories?’ the Chief Mender asked.

‘I don’t have to. Things happen.’

Things became a little teary, then. After everything had calmed down, the Chief Mender met Zachary’s eyes.

‘Thank you for talking to me, Zachary. That was very brave. I hope you will always remember that bit of courage you have; it’s very important, and you should be proud of it.’ He gave a gentle smile. ‘Now, it’s getting late. You close your eyes and get some sleep. I’m going to get this sorted out. And I’ll be here to talk again in the morning.’

But he wasn’t.

‘The Chief Mender had to go home to his family,’ said one of the journeyman menders when Zachary asked. ‘He got a message to say that one of them was sick and that he would have to go and look after them. It came in the night.’ She paused. ‘You look awfully pale, Prince Zachary. Do try to eat a bit more of your breakfast, please.’

Conversations like that can stay with you for a very long time.

~

Later that day, Amigast Hillander closed the door behind him, leaving his Black Shield outside, and took the seat next to Zachary’s bed. Zachary stayed still and quiet, and waited. His father had a ‘speak only when you are spoken to’ rule for children.

‘Well,’ Amigast said after a little while. ‘How are you feeling? Better, are we? Good, good. I spoke to the mender. Seems you’re doing well. Some children can have the occasional… fit, of sorts. It turns out. Especially with your poor constitution. Best to try not to worry about it.’

The thing with Amigast’s manner of speech was that, even with all of its fits and starts, he somehow never sounded uncertain. He sounded more as though he was deciding how the world worked. And once he said it, he almost never rescinded it.  
Zachary did not respond. Statements did not require answers.

‘The Chief Mender spoke to me last night,’ Amigast said abruptly. Zachary tensed, waiting. There was a long stretch of silence, and then Amigast spoke again.

‘Zachary, I know you’re young. And this is difficult. But it is important that you understand this.’ Amigast shifted position, then met Zachary’s eyes seriously.

‘This family depends on reputation,’ he said. ‘At the moment, mostly your grandmother’s. But increasingly, it depends on mine – and your brother’s. Amilton will be king one day. His reputation must be spotless. And you have a responsibility to support that.’

Another pause.

‘I know that Amilton can be… difficult for you,’ he said, and Zachary stared at him. His father never admitted that Amilton was less than perfect. Never.

Amigast was watching his expression, and Zachary saw the disapproval on his face.

‘The fact of the matter is, however difficult,’ he said, ‘that our family’s continuance depends not on your life, but on your brother’s. And his needs have to be put first. Regardless. I cannot have one child constantly undermining the other. And I cannot have a Chief Mender who sees fit to rebuke me in my own office.’

Pause. Zachary did not dare ask what had really happened to the Chief Mender. But he felt guilt ooze through him. He should never have told anyone. 

‘Your responsibility, as a member of this family, is to support this family,’ Amigast continued heavily. ‘Regardless. Your brother will need that from you. I need that from you. And if you don’t feel that you are capable of that, I expect you to keep it to yourself in the future.’ He met Zachary’s eyes again. ‘Do you understand?’

Zachary nodded, and Amigast gave a sigh of frustration.

‘Speak up, Zachary. You have a voice.’

Zachary cleared his throat and made himself speak.

‘I understand, father.’

And he did. He understood perfectly. 

Amigast sighed again.

‘Your grandmother will expect to see you this afternoon,’ he said. ‘Behave yourself.’

Zachary didn’t need more detailed instructions. He knew what that meant by now.

~

Time passed. Now see the two princes, on midsummer night, fourteen and seventeen years old, in the grounds of the keep in the flickering edge of a party. Just out of earshot of anyone else – including the other person who has just fumbled away from the older prince, running into the dark. 

‘You shouldn’t do that.’

‘Well, well, look at that. If it isn’t the world’s ugliest peeping tom.’

‘I wasn’t – I didn’t come to look. You slipped the Shields, they’re looking for you.’

‘And you. Though I don’t suppose they’re as worried about you. Probably they think you’re trapped under a bookcase somewhere.’

‘Who was she?’

‘Why, you want to –’

‘No, that’s horrible. But she sounded upset –’ Zachary stopped himself.

Amilton’s eyes glinted in the shadows. Interrupting him was not something Zachary was allowed to do, and they both knew it. 

‘What are you going to do about it?’ he said dangerously. ‘Oh, wait – nothing. Because you’re a whiny shit of a person who doesn’t ever do anything.’

‘I’ll tell father.’

Amilton moved. Zachary had been half-expecting it, but he still wasn’t able to avoid it. Amilton pushed him up against the wall, pulling his left arm up and twisting it around. Then he leaned close and spoke directly into Zachary’s ear.

‘You listen to me very carefully. You can tell on me if you like. You can go running to mother, or father, or your precious Rider friend – yes, I saw you talking to her again. But one day, they’re not going to be there anymore. And I will be. So if you were smart, you’d be trying to get on my good side now, because if you don’t, when I’m on the throne? Your life will be miserable, painful, and short.’

Sounds from a few feet away. Footsteps. In a practised motion, both princes separate dand straighten themselves, as though there had been nothing unusual about their conversation. Seconds later, two Black Shields appeared.

‘Prince Amilton,’ one of them said. ‘Your father asks that you do not wander away from your guards so lightly.’ 

Prince Amilton gave a smile.

‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘Just catching up with my little brother. Come on, Zachary. We have a party to attend.’

Zachary was staring away from him.

‘I don’t feel well,’ he said quietly. ‘I think I will retire to my rooms. Would you give father my apologies?’

There was an odd, tense moment, and then Amilton gave a short laugh.

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘We all know your health is… less than ideal. I will inform our father.’

‘Thank you.’

They parted, and Zachary made his way back to his rooms without allowing himself to touch his throbbing wrist. 

~

Serian Hillander, wife to Amigast, mother to Amilton and Zachary, lost her long struggle with ill health in the third year of her husband’s reign. 

The people gathered at the keep to mourn. The family, of course, gave few public appearances. Grief was a private thing. There was a great deal of understanding and sorrow – Queen Serian had been a charming, benevolent public presence, and very well-liked. Amigast was so clearly broken-hearted at the funeral, and it shone through even at council meetings and other more public appearances. His grief seemed to fill the keep like a cloud. 

The two sons were seen less often. Prince Amilton was uncharacteristically sombre at gatherings, a stark contrast to his usually charming self that drew sympathy from all sides. Prince Zachary was a ghost, even more so that usual, fading into the background in the family line-up. When the family appeared to greet people, Amigast and Amilton drew people to them; Zachary appeared to almost repel them. He seldom spoke, and kept his eyes down. He disappeared from events at the earliest opportunity, and engaged no one in conversation. For once in his life, he was not rebuked for it. For a little while, his life was almost peaceful. Zachary was grieving, but more than that he felt guilty. Guilty to be glad of the peace he had, when it had come at the cost of his mother’s life.

Time, once again, passed.

~

Zachary entered the office at his father’s summons and walked to stand in the designated spot. Two feet away from the edge of the desk, to his father’s right. He stood quietly, made sure his hands were clasped and still behind his back, and waited. 

Amigast finished with the paperwork in front of him and moved it to one side. Then he looked up. As always, he seemed to take in his youngest son in one glance and not see anything to be pleased about.

‘You’re going to Hillander,’ he said abruptly. ‘About time you learnt something useful. Sixteen is young for a Lord-Governor, but you need the experience. I’m making the position dependant on your uncle – he’ll be able to negate your decisions if he sees you in error. Don’t think that’s an excuse to be lazy, though. I’ll be expecting a full report from him on your progress after six months.’

If Zachary had been anyone else, he might have had the urge to grip the edge of the desk or ask if his father was serious. As it was, he merely paled slightly, his thoughts racing. He was being sent away? To Hillander? As Lord-Governor? Young Lord-Governors were not unheard of, particularly in Hillander. Zachary’s Uncle Emry, the current Lord-Governor of Hillander, had been instated at the age of twenty. The position was unlike that of the other Lord-Governors in that it firstly was technically a stewardship (the monarch held the title officially but couldn’t be expected to perform the duties in addition to running the country), and secondly was not hereditary. It was usually given to the younger child of the royal family at whatever appropriate age the monarch decided, allowing them to be supported by the previous Lord-Governor. 

No, this wasn’t necessarily unusual in and of itself. Zachary simply could not quite believe that his father thought enough of him to grant him – oh. No, of course not. No. Zachary held back a grim little smile as he realised why he was actually being given it. He gave his father the expected response.

‘Thank you, father, this is a great honour. I promise that I will work hard.’

Amigast, as expected, scowled. 

And now I will hear the real reason, Zachary thought.

‘I’m not giving it to you to honour you,’ Amigast said bluntly. ‘I’m giving it to you because you need the training. And because I’m damn tired of dealing with your antagonistic behaviour with Amilton.’

Naturally.

‘Wainwright suggested that perhaps the two of you just needed time apart. That you’re under a lot of pressure, the both of you. I don’t know if I agree with that. But I expect you to shape up in this position, or it will be taken away from you. Emry’s son is more than capable of taking it on if you turn out not to be. Understand?’

‘Yes, father.’

Wainwright? Devon Wainwright? The councillor who represented the Order of the Black Shields was, unsurprisingly, extremely stoic – and not, in Zachary’s experience, prone to making personal comments about the royal family. But then, as his father always insisted, for the royal family, the personal and the public were often interchangeable. 

‘You leave at the end of the week,’ Amigast continued. ‘There’ll be paperwork for you to look at and sign, and you’ll have to take the Lord-Governor’s oath. You’ll be called for it, I expect you to get it memorised yourself. You spend enough time in the damn library, you should be able to manage that.’

‘Yes, father.’

‘That will be all.’

Amigast bent over his paperwork again. Zachary bowed, and left.

He took the instruction from his father literally, because no one would argue with it, and went straight to the keep library. It was late, but the librarian gave a smile and a bow when he came in. He nodded at her but did not speak, preserving the hush. The staff here knew he would ask for their help if necessary, anyway. 

Two hours later he sat back in his chair, digging the fingers of one hand into the palm of the other, trying to stay calm. The words of the formal Lord-Governor’s oath lay in front of him.

Amilton could not be behind this. Amilton would never allow Zachary to gain position or be sent away from him. But Amilton would, without a doubt, be pleased with the official vow.

If Zachary took this, and left the country, he could be hunted down as a traitor.

He licked his lips, and stared at the words again. 

Of course, it was a stewardship, technically. Which meant it would probably be easier to resign. Perhaps he could resign of ill-health, and then – no, he would be called back to the keep. And his father would require a mender’s evidence. Could he make it look as though he had had some kind of accident? Amilton would willingly believe Zachary had ended his own life. But it would be investigated. 

He made himself breathe more steadily. It was fine, it was manageable. This complicated things, but it did not have to be the end of everything. And this position, while more visible, would give him the geographical distance from Amilton to research what he needed. Not to mention the proximity of the coastline – could he pay his way aboard a merchant ship? No, there were only so many of those, that would be easier to track. But travelling by land would make him easier to outrun. 

The simple fact that he came back to every time was that he did not have the skills to travel independently. He would have to leave some kind of trace, and probably more than he intended. 

It was nearly dawn before he pulled himself out of the spiral of thought and left the library to get a few hours of sleep.

The moment he entered his room, he knew something was wrong. He turned.

Amilton was stood there, leaning against the wall by the window, watching him.

‘Amilton,’ Zachary said warily, going over to the wardrobe to put away his jacket – the keep corridors were cold at night. 

‘What were you talking to father about?’ Amilton asked.

Zachary tried not to let his surprise show on his face. Amilton seemed to know everything about everything these days. It wasn’t unlike father to decide something abruptly and not announce it, but Amilton usually found out anyway. He wouldn’t like being taken by surprise.

‘Father is sending me to Hillander, to take up the Lord-Governor’s position,’ Zachary said carefully. ‘Though I will be supervised by Lord Emry.’

Amilton pushed away from the wall, and Zachary held back a flinch. He knew better than that. Stay still, don’t attract his attention. Be as dull and uninteresting as possible.

‘He’s giving you the Lord-Governor position?’ Amilton repeated, brown creased, expression distasteful. ‘What does he want, to ruin the province?’

Zachary had been expecting the insult, and it didn’t really sting. Much.

‘I think he wants to separate us,’ he said quietly. ‘And I’ll be expected to take up the position one day. Emry will have veto power over my decisions and be reporting back to father. I doubt I’ll be given enough room to ruin anything.’

He suppressed an internal wince at that last statement. Disagreeing with Amilton was never a good idea. But Amilton didn’t seem to register it, or didn’t care. He stared at Zachary as though he could see right through to his bones.

‘When are you going?’ he asked.

‘The end of the week,’ Zachary said.

Amilton didn’t respond to this. Zachary waited. Amilton liked to build up tension, he knew it frightened people. It frightened Zachary, but he was used to it. It was late. Amilton must have been up ‘socialising’ – probably gambling with some of his friends – and he might have waited up even later waiting for Zachary to return to his room. He probably wouldn’t bother with anything tonight.

Zachary’s prediction turned out to be correct. Amilton left wordlessly, letting the door click shut behind him. Zachary counted to ten in his head before he locked it, and only then did he get changed and climb into bed.

~

On his last morning in Sacor City, Zachary woke with the dawn. He dressed quickly for breakfast, though it was two or three hours away – his father was not prone to early rising these days, and this morning’s farewell breakfast would be a family affair. Then he edged quietly out of his room, soft-footed his way through the royal quarters, and headed up through the keep. 

The view from this tower was clear and good, and Zachary breathed it in. Sacor City spilled out from around the keep itself, and then the vast expanse of the Green Cloak spread out west. The forest’s westernmost edge nearly reached Selium, he knew. Beyond that, Adolind – D’Lvary – Mirwell – Wayman. He had never seen any of them. There had seldom been a reason for him to leave the central parts of the keep, let alone the town or the countryside beyond. 

Slowly, Zachary walked clockwise around the tower, taking in the view a piece at a time.

To the north the Green Cloak continued into darkness, reaching through Penburn and Oldbury until it began to fade into scrubland, far beyond the border. There were a few small towns near the border, but not much further on – the land was hardly arable, and the temperatures low and inhospitable. 

In the east, the Wingsong Mountains rose to touch the sky, their points hazy even on this clear day. Snow-touched, Zachary had read, all the year around. And the Eastern Provinces on the other side – Arey, Coutre, and Bairdly. 

Finally, he turned south. To his left, the distant hills were D’Yer Province – and beyond them the D’Yer Wall and the near-mythical forest of Blackveil. To his right, L’Petrie Province and the great merchant city of Corsa. Between the two: Hillander. 

He stared at it as though doing so would grant him details of the landscape. It remained at the edge of the horizon, unknowable.

~

Breakfast was the usual stilted affair that it was now. Amigast spoke about state matters; Amilton engaged him in his best ‘confident heir to the throne’ manner. Zachary ate silently, avoiding their attention. 

After breakfast, he slipped back to his room and changed for the journey. He had a small leather side bag in which he would carry little necessities – water, an apple, a book, a spare scarf in case the wind was cold. He packed that, then stood in his room for a moment. He should feel something, he thought. Some kind of… something. He might well be leaving this room forever. Certainly he would be leaving it for longer than he ever had before. But there was nothing. 

He left without looking back, and headed downstairs.

The farewell was an awkward affair. His father and Amilton walked him to the steps of the courtyard, where the party of guards waited to escort him to Hillander Keep. His father gave a brief speech about doing the family proud. Both of Amigast and Amilton shook his hand and clasped him in an uncomfortable hug. Zachary almost couldn’t bear the delay.

A final formal bow, and then he was mounting his horse and being guided forward by his guards. Out of the courtyard – out of the gate – he turned back once and saw his father and Amilton still standing on the steps, wondered whether he should wave or not, decided there was no one to make him do it and kept his hands by his sides – turned forward again and they were on Winding Way, the people peering at him from the sides of the road and the occasional window. 

And then they were out of the city.

The moment they stepped outside of the city gate would stay with Zachary for the rest of his life. The sound of that first hoof down on the ground, the beginning of freshness in the air after the closeness of the city, the light coming through the leaves of the trees, the air on his skin – all of it felt brand new. For one, shining moment, he could taste the idea of a free life. A life where if someone hurt you, if your work was hard, or even if you just felt like a change, you could simply walk away. Walk away into the rest of the world.

Then the guards in front of him exchanged a quiet comment, and Zachary was staring at their uniform again. Hillander uniform, royal branch. A tree with its roots in an entire country, stretching out from coast to coast, border to border. Hidden under everything. He would be watched in Hillander, he was certain. His father – Amilton – could hardly be so lax as to leave him to his freedom. And he was sworn to the crown.

He felt his mood sinking again, and sought to distract himself. He tried to go through all he knew or remembered of the family in Hillander.

His uncle, Lord Emry. The Lord-Governor he was replacing. Brother to Amigast, Zachary’s father. Younger than Amigast, of course, but he had married much earlier. Lady Lissia had died around fifteen years ago, in childbirth. They had four children. The three youngest were daughters, all already married and living away with their husbands (the last and youngest only a year older than Zachary, and only married this year). The eldest was a son, Lord Leonar, Zachary’s cousin. He was married to Lady Marin. They had two children, still very small. 

So that was the family tree. But the personalities were mysteries. Zachary knew he had met Emry, Leonar, and Marin at his mother’s funeral, and before that at his father’s coronation. But he was never in the thick of social conversation, and had as usual excused himself as early as was acceptable. He rolled some of the tension out of his shoulders and tried to think. Emry he vaguely remembered from the occasional childhood visit as a distorted double of his father – loud when talking, emphatic in gesture, but not controlling the room in the same way. Marin and Leonar he had no real recollection of, save their serious faces at the funeral.

This was where his relative isolation was going to really inconvenience him. He would have to start from the ground up with people. And undoubtedly, people who had been given his father’s opinion of him. Zachary told himself that his heart wasn’t sinking at the thought. That was how it always was, there was no sense in being disappointed. However strange it had felt riding out of the gate, this wasn’t a grand adventure – Hillander Keep would be every bit as dangerous as Sacor City Keep, particularly in that he was unfamiliar with it.


	2. Pockets Full of Stones

Hillander Keep was smaller than Sacor City Keep, but not by a great deal. It was shorter – and of course it didn’t have the extent of lower levels found in the royal keep – but it compensated for that by sprawling out more, a rambling warren of additional stonework and adjustments and updates.

Zachary took it in, trying not to be too obviously wide-eyed. The journey had gone fairly smoothly. He had been surprised by how quickly he found it dull, despite never having undertaken travel like that before. One stretch of forest road looked much like the one before, and the one before that. And while he had expected to find staying at an inn interesting – Zachary had never before been in such close proximity to the common folk – he quickly realised that paying to have a floor of the inn to himself and the guards that travelled with him, as most of the nobility did, meant that he saw only one or two more people than they’d been seeing on the road.

But Hillander Keep was something different. This was it. This was where he was to live. And work. He pulled himself slightly straighter in the saddle.

It was mid-afternoon as they made their way through the surrounding town; the market was busy with voices and bodies, and Zachary’s guard had to shout to clear a path. The townspeople stared up at him, and Zachary tried his best to focus on the keep and maintain a neutral expression. He heard a few people identifying him to their neighbours – ‘That’s Prince Zachary, that is, the new Lord-Governor,’ – but tried not to listen too hard, in case they said something insulting. He knew that he did not exactly look the part.

When they reached the main entrance to the keep, Zachary saw that the entire keep population had been lined up outside. He had read that this was the standard tradition, but it was a little overwhelming to see it in person. He swallowed.

Between servants, guards, administrators, and resident nobles (usually distant cousins, young individuals looking for a match, or widows who preferred the company in a bigger keep), Hillander Keep housed around three hundred people. Zachary scanned them as his guard filed in and began to dismount.

Servants in tidy grey-and-black; guards in grey. They were in large groups to the left and right. At the back, a group of around forty clerks. Hillander Keep ran the administration for the entire province, and most of it took place in the building itself. With them were a group of commoners in more individual clothing – weapons master, blacksmith, menders, other specialists whose abilities classed them slightly above the rest of the servants. In front of them were the gathered nobility in their various finery. And right at the front, a row of two men, one woman, and two toddlers.

Zachary dismounted, and walked forward, his heart thudding in his chest.

The older man stepped forward too, and his bow set off the entire group. When he straightened up, he smiled.

‘Hillander Keep welcomes Prince Zachary Hillander to his position as Lord-Steward of Hillander Province,’ he said formally. But there was warmth in his expression.

‘I thank you for your welcome,’ Zachary responded as tradition dictated. ‘You must be Lord Emry?’

‘I must be,’ Lord Emry said. ‘But Uncle Emry is fine. May I introduce my eldest, Lord Leonar, his wife Lady Marin, and their daughter and son.’

‘A pleasure to meet you.’

The other Hillanders were smiling at him too. Zachary tried to summon a smile in return but the one he managed was only faint.

He was introduced to the nobility and he tried to retain as many names and faces as he could. Then the gathering was dismissed back to their regular activities, and he was given a tour of the keep.

‘I know there’s a lot of information,’ Lord Emry continued as they made their way, finally, up to Zachary’s new quarters, ‘and obviously we don’t expect you to have it memorised straight away! Please feel free to ask myself, Leonar, or Marin for anything you may need. We hope you’ll be happy here.’

~

Zachary wandered through his new rooms. They were spacious as befitted a Lord-Governor, and well-appointed. Bedroom, living space, a spacious private study, a handful of other rooms. It had all been cleared out for his arrival, but his small collection of belongings only really served to make the space seem barer.

A fire had been set for him in the private study, and he retreated to a chair beside it to think through information received.

Lord Emry: _call me Uncle_. Loud, largely in the same manner as his elder brother, but more attentive. His eyes had been focused, and Zachary had felt as though every word he said would be remembered precisely, able to be analysed.

Lord Leonar: a slightly calmer version of Lord Emry. Cheerful, prone to joking about.

Lady Marin: smiling and sweet; someone cruel would probably label her as an unremarkable but inoffensive lady. Nothing to dislike, but she seemed more reserved that her husband or father-in-law. Perhaps she simply presented less of a front.

Zachary stored this information in an orderly fashion in his mind as he watched the flickering of the flames.

~

‘Well.’

The room was quiet. Marin broke the silence first.

‘I think he seems sweet,’ she said. ‘We knew he was going to be a beginner – there’s nothing wrong with that. He pays close attention when you talk; he’ll learn.’

‘He didn’t say more than three words for the whole of dinner,’ Leonar said quietly.

Marin shrugged, but her expression betrayed a hint of worry.

‘He’s young. And he has only recently lost his mother; and he’s away from Sacor City for the first time in his life. You know Amigast, I’m sure he had hardly any warning. He’ll settle in with time.’

Leonar conceded to this with a nod, but his forehead was still creased in thought.

‘He will need us to be behind him.’

The other two looked around when Emry spoke from his seat by the window. He turned his head to see their expressions, and sighed. How much to reveal? Best to keep most of it to himself for now. But a little information might help.

‘Amigast doesn’t write about him much, but reading between the lines I’d say he’s rather overshadowed by his brother,’ he said. ‘He may well be… under-confident. And his father’s sending him away at short notice may have left him feeling very isolated. Don’t push too hard, but do your best to befriend him. Find out what he likes to do with his time, outside of his work, and we’ll see if we can arrange it for him.’

He thought for another moment.

‘Hard enough to suddenly become a Lord Governor at sixteen,’ he added quietly. ‘Let alone being in an unfamiliar place.’

He turned back to look out of the window, lost in thought.

~

It was the following morning, and Lord-Steward Zachary Hillander was on his way to his first meeting when the Chief Mender stopped him in the corridor.

‘Yes?’

‘Chief Mender Tommin Brackwater, my lord.’

The young man looked startled for a moment before the smooth politician’s mask came down again. Tommin pretended he hadn’t noticed.

‘Chief Mender. What can I help you with?’

Still mostly neutral, but verging on wary. Tommin gave a polite smile.

‘My lord, I apologise for the inconvenience, but it is standard procedure to go over the file of anyone new under my care when they arrive. I find it is very helpful –’

‘I have no need of the attentions of a mender. If this changes, I will summon one.’ The words _not you_ were not said aloud, but then, given the tone, they didn’t really have to be. Tommin took a step back and bowed appropriately, keeping his expression carefully neutral.

‘Of course, my lord.’

The young Lord-Governor nodded, and walked away. Tommin remained for a moment or so, thinking. He did not often have people turn down his introductory meeting, but over his career so far he had encountered a number of people reluctant to interact with a mender. Sometimes it was a fear of blood, or nervousness around the idea of sickness. Some of the nobility thought of him as a servant and dismissed his request accordingly, though his newly acquired Chief Mender status had changed this with most of them. Some people had things they were afraid of being discovered.

Well, he would still review the file by himself. Standard procedure. In fact, he could do it now – the ward was quiet enough, and he would be called out of his office if he was needed. He made his way through the keep.

Tommin Brackwater had grown up in Hillander province. Selected by the Golden Guardian to attend Selium, he had been the top of his class. The position at Hillander keep had come four years ago – his rise to Chief Mender, just six months back. For most people, being snubbed by the new Lord-Governor would have shaken their confidence considerably. But Tommin took it in his stride. He knew that Lord Emry was pleased with his appointment, and he felt confident that he could bring the Lord Zachary around with time.

Reaching his office, he went straight to the locked cupboard which held personal files, and retrieved Lord Zachary’s. Then he settled himself behind his desk, and read it through.

When he was finished, he was frowning. Then he read it through again. Then he sat back in his chair, thinking hard.

~

‘We’ve got some quiet days next week,’ Emry said. ‘Zachary, I appreciate you’re a long way from home – it will take a little while to settle in. Is there anything you’d like to arrange to do? I confess, I don’t really know how you like to spend your time.’

Zachary looked uncomfortable. Marin wondered why.

‘That is… very kind of you, my lord –’

‘Uncle, Zachary.’

‘Uncle Emry. But I… I’m not sure anything comes to mind. Specifically.’

Zachary cleared his throat awkwardly. Marin felt a surge of sympathy.

‘What do you do with your free time at home?’ she asked gently. ‘We could do a little socialising? Or go riding, or have a games night, or… whatever you’d like.’

Zachary smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.

‘A kind thought,’ he said. ‘I… I will think on it, if I may.’

‘Of course.’

~

A week later, Marin made her own attempt.

‘We’ve got the harvest festivities in three weeks, there will of course be a party – Zachary, is there anyone you would like to invite? Anyone from Sacor City – what about your friends there?’

Marin saw him swallow nervously.

‘I uh – I expect the people in Sacor City will attend the keep festivities there,’ he said. ‘I look forward to meeting the people who come to the Hillander event.’

Marin smiled, but her expression was confused.

‘Of course,’ she said.

‘Thank you, my lady,’ Zachary said, and left before Marin could remind him that the title wasn’t a necessity – and point out that he had not really answered her question.

~

Six months passed, a piece at a time. Zachary found that he rather liked the work. He had the right level of focus for it – a quiet interest in puzzle-solving, with a mind that saw details and worked for precision. He enjoyed learning all the processes that held the province together, and began to find his voice in meetings. Less as the kind of commanding presence his father would have applauded, and more as a mediator, a coordinator. He could see, sometimes, the way Emry watched him, and wondered what kind of impression he gave him. But mostly he put it from his mind. There were enough things to think about. And for the first time in his life, he was beginning to feel that he was good at something.

It was the report that spoiled it, really. He couldn’t quite believe that he had forgotten it – that he had been so quick to sink into the calm, reassuring routine of Hillander Keep and forget the bars of the cage around him, simply because they were harder to see from here.

King Amigast had requested that Lord Emry provide a detailed report of Zachary’s progress as Lord-Governor, at the six-month benchmark. Emry compiled it, and passed it to Zachary at the end of one of the regular council meetings.

‘If I had anything negative to say, I’d be more wary of handing this over,’ he said. ‘But you’ve done extremely well, and in any case you’re old enough to sit down with this sort of thing and learn from it. I’ve picked up on a few things you can improve, but they’re really things I wasn’t expecting you to get to for another year. You’re rather ahead of schedule. Your father will be proud.’

Zachary took the report, feeling faintly as though he was made of glass. The room seemed uncomfortably warm.

‘Thank you, uncle,’ he replied. ‘I will read it.’

‘I’d like your comments on it before I send it,’ Emry said. ‘This sort of thing is collaborative – you’re not a child, and I’m not spying on you. If there’s anything you feel is inaccurate or that you want to add, we can discuss it the night after next.’

‘Very well. Thank you.’ Zachary spotted some faint puzzlement in his uncle’s expression at his flat and formal tone, and proffered a faint smile before making his excuses.

He read it later, in his office, his fear growing with every line. The report was _glowing_. His father would never accept this. Zachary was not – younger brothers should not outshine their elders, and this would be like waving his success in front of Amilton’s nose. He would be removed from position as soon as possible – either that or Amilton would go about his revenge in some other, less predictable way. Zachary knew that his brother was not above targeting others to torment Zachary – there was a reason that Zachary had never had friends of his own. Emry, as their father’s brother, was well-protected, but Leonar and Marin were not. Not from the crown prince.

He sat back, trying to decide what to do. The report could not be sent as it was. Emry _had_ said that he would discuss possible changes. It would undoubtedly be unethical to attempt to add praise to a report like this, but what about the opposite? Could he request more neutrality, more cautious wording? Tone the report down until it was unremarkable.

Ignoring the beginnings of a headache, Zachary reached for his supplies and began to make edits.

~

This meeting was not going as Emry had expected.

Zachary wasn’t a very expressive person, but Emry had been a politician for almost thirty years now. He could see that his nephew was struggling to remain composed. But what was underneath the composure? It didn’t seem quite like anger…

‘I just feel,’ he said, his voice calm, ‘that the formal report is not the place for your personal feelings. If you wish to express them to father, I feel that they would be more appropriately conveyed in a private letter.’

Emry gave this due consideration.

‘I can understand your point,’ he said. ‘And I would be happy to make the report more impersonal, I don’t see anything wrong with that. But I cannot completely ignore my perspective in such a report – one of the things required in this report is my opinion on your progress. We can work to make it more formal, if you prefer. But it will still have to carry my opinion to a degree, as that’s what your father has asked me for.’

Zachary’s expression was grim as he listened. Clearly, he was not happy with this proposed solution. Emry tried again.

‘I feel as though I’m missing something,’ he ventured carefully. ‘While I applaud your honesty, I can’t help but be surprised that you are so concerned with… well, what seems to be the positive nature of the report. Do you think that you have not been as successful as my report indicates?’

Perhaps it was a matter of confidence, he thought. Perhaps Zachary was uncertain enough that he felt uncomfortable with praise. He watched Zachary, and noticed that he was twisting his hands behind his back again. Discomfort, nervousness… fear?

_Fear_. _That’s it, behind his eyes. The way he keeps avoiding your gaze and then forcing himself to meet it again. The tense way that he moves._ _What is he afraid of?_

‘I… I simply wish the report to be more formal,’ Zachary stated with a certain amount of reluctance, as though he felt this was a losing move. And if Emry had been a bully, it would have been. He knew enough of debate to know that he could push things his way now, if he wanted to. But he didn’t. What he wanted to know was why Zachary was unhappy with the report – the real reason, not the only faintly convincing excuse.

‘And I simply wish to represent you truthfully to your father,’ Emry said gently. ‘It will strengthen your position here, you’ve certainly put in the work to deserve it. I can tell that our aims are not… precisely in line, here. And I would like to fix that, if I can.’

Zachary turned, gazing out of the window, apparently in contemplative thought. But Emry noticed that his hands, still clasped behind his back, were gripping each other so hard as to leave marks. He frowned.

‘Zachary, I can see that I’ve upset you,’ he said, keeping his voice level. ‘I apologise; that was not my intention. But I need more information.’

Zachary remained facing away from him.

‘I do not see that there is any further information for you to have,’ he said, and now his voice was clipped. Emry wondered if he had hit a sore spot of some kind.

‘Well, understanding your motivation –’

‘My motivation is simply to be honest and straightforward,’ Zachary said.

‘Do you feel that the report, as it currently stands, is dishonest? Convoluted?’

Zachary was silent. Emry tried a stronger push, allowing some of the exasperation that he felt to creep into his voice.

‘Zachary, I am on your side, but I cannot help you if I do not understand what you are aiming to do!’

His nephew turned at that, his expression tight and angry.

‘It is none of your _business_ ,’ he said, with a surprising amount of force. ‘I did not ask you to help me.’

But something else was at work; his sudden turn had unbalanced him. Zachary swayed, and then steadied himself against the wall. Emry took a step forward, concerned, and saw both Leonar and Marin move likewise in the corner of his eyes.

‘I do not need your assistance,’ Zachary snapped before they could reach him.

‘Zachary, are you well?’ Marin asked, concerned. ‘Perhaps you should sit down?’

‘No, I…’

Another sway, this one smaller but still obvious. Marin was at his side in an instant, waving Leonar and Emry back. She put a motherly hand to his forehead before he could say a word.

‘You’re so warm! Come, sit by the fire – there, good. Zachary, if you are ill, I am certain that Lord Emry would hold any decisions about the report until you are well.’ She glanced at Emry, and he nodded.

‘Of course,’ he said. But Zachary shook his head.

‘The report has to be sent in the next two days…’ he began, and then stopped.

‘That’s not a problem,’ Emry said, puzzled. ‘It’s not as though anything is depending on it – I can simply include a note to say you were unwell and the finalising of the report was delayed –’

‘ _No._ ’

There was no disguising it this time – Zachary sounded frightened, and there was the edge of pleading in his voice. He quickly turned away, but it was enough. Emry took a step closer.

‘Zachary…’

‘I am fine. I was simply tired. We can continue to discuss the report.’

A good attempt at neutrality, but it did not quite convince. Emry shook his head.

‘Leonar, could you send for the mender, please?’ he said steadily.

‘Of course.’

Leonar stepped outside the room to send a servant, and then returned. Emry softened his tone.

‘Zachary, you must take care of yourself first,’ he said. ‘I won’t hear anything more on the topic until you’ve had the mender check you over. Nothing will move on, it’s quite simple to put it on hold for your health –’

‘There is no reason –’

‘Then give me one,’ Emry interrupted, not harshly. Zachary looked at him, startled.

‘What?’

Emry sighed.

‘Zachary, I know something’s not right. Something’s not been right for you for a long time. But I don’t know what it is. And I can’t help you unless I do.’

Zachary just stared at him, his lips tight together.

‘I don’t need or want your help,’ he said again. But this time there was no real strength behind the words. He sounded like he was repeating something he knew he _should_ say, and that perhaps the emotion behind it was quite different.

‘Are you sure?’ Marin asked gently. ‘It is always available to you.’

‘Why?’

That was not a question that Emry had been expecting. He frowned in surprise, staring at Zachary.

‘Because…’ he began, and then stopped. It seemed so obvious that he did not know how to explain it. ‘Because you’re my nephew,’ he settled on. ‘And I care about your wellbeing. So do Marin and Leonar. Because you’re a person, and you’re hurting. Because living here, adult or not, you are in my care.’

Zachary swallowed. He seemed to be tempted. Emry went on, testing the theory that had occurred to him.

‘Zachary, you know… anything we discuss in this room, stays right here, in this room. It’s not going to be written down or shared or _reported_ to anyone.’ He had been watching for the flinch this time, and it was easier to spot. ‘I can ask Leonar and Marin to leave if you would rather just speak to me, but I promise you that what ever you tell us is confidential. Whatever’s going on, you need to tell me.’

The air in the room was still. Emry waited, knowing Zachary was struggling to make a decision. Then the young lord-governor shook his head.

‘No,’ he said quietly, calmly, looking away from them and watching the fire.

Emry saw Leonar open his mouth to object and waved him to silence.

‘Very well,’ Emry said. ‘But we’ll wait for the mender before we carry on.’

They waited in silence. After what seemed like an age, there were footsteps in the corridor – then a knock on the door.

‘Come,’ Emry called.

Chief Mender Brackwater did so, giving a bow and looking between them as the door closed behind him.

‘Good evening, my lords, my lady,’ he said. ‘May I ask who I am attending on?’

Emry gestured to Zachary, whose jaw tightened.

‘I am quite well,’ he ground out.

‘You’re feverish and dizzy,’ Marin said to him firmly. ‘Do you want us to leave so that you can speak to the mender in private?’

‘I don’t need you to leave, because I don’t need to speak to him.’

Brackwater seemed to notice something, and moved himself to stand near the wall. Emry frowned for a moment, and then realised that the four of them were inadvertently cornering Zachary. He caught Leonar’s eye and gave a small gesture. Leonar moved.

Zachary noticed and scowled.

‘Subtle,’ he muttered. But his shoulders had gone down slightly at the change. Emry wondered briefly if he should just send Leonar and Marin out. But Marin was talking again, and he didn’t want to lose her. She seemed to have a calming effect on Zachary.

‘…it might be nothing, but it isn’t something you should ignore,’ she was saying calmly. ‘If you just let Brackwater check you over – well, if there’s nothing wrong, then it won’t matter, will it? And if there is, then it’s good that he’s here.’

Zachary glanced at her, and then at Emry, as though trying to gauge how much room he had to manoeuvre. 

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. He stood, and Emry held himself back – Zachary looked less than stable on his feet, though he made a good show of it, crossing the room as though to leave.

‘Lord Zachary, if you are unwell, I would like to be of assistance –’

Zachary waved Brackwater’s words away in a gesture very reminiscent of his father. Emry took a few steps to meet him at the door.

‘Zachary,’ he said. This close, he could see why Marin had been so concerned. Zachary was paler than he should have been, and his skin was damp. His stability was more in question, and a faint tremor was unmistakeable. Emry would not usually have pressed the matter – Zachary was an adult, and had the right to decide whether or not to see the mender. But at this point he was becoming genuinely concerned that there was something else going on. If there wasn’t, why was Zachary trying to avoid treatment?

‘Zachary,’ he repeated.

He felt rather than heard Brackwater come up from behind him to stand by his side.

‘Lord Zachary, if there is something wrong, you can discuss it with me. I can help. But I would like to know if there is something that makes you feel as though you cannot see me.’

Perhaps the fever was part of what wore Zachary down, because he had something hopeless in his eyes as he looked at Brackwater.

‘Do you know how many chief menders we’ve had in Sacor City in the last sixteen years? _Nine_.’ Zachary shook his head and gave a very faint smile that did not reach his eyes. ‘You’re nice, Tommin Brackwater. I’m sure you’re very happy here. If you’d like to stay, you need to stop asking questions about me.’

Emry felt every hair on the back of his neck stand on end. The room was silent. Brackwater, to his credit, stayed calm – only a slight tightening of the muscles in his face betrayed that he had heard Zachary’s words.

‘Is that a threat?’ the mender said quietly, as though it was question with no weight to it at all.

A pause in which Emry could almost hear his own heart beat. Then Zachary spoke, his words barely above a whisper.

‘Not from me.’

And then Emry knew. Oh, he knew. Perhaps not the details, but he knew the shape of it. He could feel all of his previous worries slotting into place. The way Amigast spoke about Zachary. The way Zachary jumped at loud noises, seemed to have no hobbies and no friends. The quietness, the _smallness_ of the space he took up in a room. And the report? It fitted in somehow, but he didn’t know how yet.

‘I see,’ Brackwater said calmly. He took a moment to think, then he gave a small nod to himself. He turned to look at Emry, and when their eyes met they recognised the same understanding in each other’s eyes.

‘Lord Emry, as my former patron – may I ask if you are able to guarantee my security?’

Emry gave a small, grim smile.

‘Chief Mender Tommin Brackwater, I am willing and able to protect you in any way necessary to your continued duty as a mender, even if that means defending you from members of my family or those that outrank me,’ he said quietly, keeping the words formal to give them more weight. Brackwater gave a small bow, and then turned back to Zachary. The young province-lord was looking between Brackwater and Emry, wide-eyed.

‘I have confidence in Lord Emry,’ the chief mender said quietly. ‘And I thank you for your concern. But the risk is mine to take, and I am willing to take it.’

A pause. Emry could see the very faint tremor in Zachary’s hands. His nephew looked frightened, lost – and just the tiniest bit hopeful.

‘Zachary, please just tell us.’

Zachary’s head dropped when his resistance did. A beat of silence; then he spoke.

‘What do you want to know?’ he said.

~

It was a slow conversation. Emry could see that Zachary had never fully explained this to anyone before – in many places, he lacked the words he needed, or the confidence behind them. Emry let Brackwater do most of the talking – the mender was calm, and sympathetic without being overly dramatic. While he listened, Emry could feel himself growing increasingly angry. With Amilton, yes – but also with Amigast. His brother had always been careless, tactless. But this was another matter entirely. Glancing over at Leonar and Marin, he could see his feelings mirrored there. Marin, particularly, seemed almost ready to leap into battle.

The conversation was beginning to wind down. Zachary gave Emry a hesitant look.

‘Amilton – father – I’m not supposed to be noticeable. It’s safer to be unremarkable. I wasn’t trying to… Amilton would not allow me to be recognised in a positive way. It’s surprising he hasn’t interfered with my position yet.’

‘The report,’ Emry said, understanding dawning. ‘If it’s too positive, Amilton might lash out. He doesn’t like you taking the attention.’

Zachary gave a hesitant nod. And then he spoke again, slowly.

‘Father doesn’t think I can do this. I know he’s right. But I – I wanted to stay –’ His voice faded out and he looked down at the floor. Emry did not hesitate.

‘Zachary, _I_ know you can do this. Your father is wrong.’

‘But you still have to complete the report.’

Emry shrugged.

‘I’ll tell Amigast I was ill and that delayed me finishing the report. When you’re well – and I mean it, Zachary, take a few days or whatever Chief Mender Brackwater recommends – you and I will sit down and work out a version of the report that will make sure you stay here.’

Zachary looked up, staring at his uncle.

‘You’d – lie to the king?’

‘I’d be telling him the truth,’ said Emry simply. ‘You do deserve to be here. I would just be presenting that information to him in a way that he will accept.’

For a moment, Zachary seemed to have no words. He looked so pale that Emry thought he might pass out right there.

‘ _Thank you,_ ’ he said quietly.

~

Emry knocked softly on the door. At the quiet ‘come’ from inside, he entered.

Brackwater was sat in the chair by the bed, looking tired.

‘How is he?’ Emry asked.

Brackwater held back a yawn.

‘Still feverish,’ he said simply. ‘He’s lucky you caught this, it’s serious. Without treatment… But he should pull through. Did you come to sit with him?’

Emry nodded, and took the seat on the other side of the bed. He looked at the Chief Mender.

‘You look like you could do with some sleep,’ he said.

‘My assistant is coming to switch with me at the next bell,’ Brackwater responded, smiling wearily. ‘It’s been a while since I sat up this late. Forgot what it feels like.’

Emry smiled sympathetically.

‘I haven’t since my girls were young,’ he said. ‘Getting too old for it. But duty calls.’

He paused, watching the young man asleep between them.

‘Will he be all right?’ he asked. Brackwater seemed to know that he wasn’t talking about the fever.

‘I think so,’ the mender said. ‘By all accounts he’s a stubborn one. He needs to talk his way through this – there are techniques and practices. But he made it this far. He will need support, though.’

‘He’ll have it,’ Emry said without hesitation.

‘Good.’

Emry shot the mender a glance, then voiced what he had been wondering.

‘You knew, didn’t you?’

Brackwater breathed out slowly.

‘I suspected something of this nature, yes.’

‘How?’

Brackwater frowned.

‘Zachary’s mender file. Everything in the same hand, as though it had been written all at once, despite the dates being far apart. Common childhood ailments; a note on clumsiness but no specifics of injuries… it didn’t seem right. Too clean and neat, these things usually aren’t. I suspect the file was copied out for his transition here, to keep the secret. And he was so wary of me. Some people are uncomfortable with menders, of course, but… the way he pulled away from people here. Too quiet.’ He shook his head. ‘I didn’t know for certain that I was right. But it worried me. And I was not surprised. It explains things.’

There was quiet in the room for a minute or so. Then Brackwater spoke again.

‘What are you going to do?’ he asked.

Emry sighed.

‘I don’t know,’ he confessed. ‘There are options. Really, we should bring it up as a case against Amigast and Amilton – neglect and abuse. If it all came out, it would be enough to knock them out of their posts.’

‘But?’

‘But the person bringing the case would be Zachary. Next in line for the throne if Amigast and Amilton are removed. Mender files aren’t hard to fake, nor witnesses to bribe. It would look like a power grab. I would be able to get a few Lord-Governors on my side, but so would Amigast. At worst, it could lead to civil war.’

The two men contemplated this for a long while. Eventually, Emry spoke again.

‘If he asked me – I’d go through with it. It’s the right thing to do, and he deserves justice. But it might be safer all round to deal with things quietly. I have some friends at court. There are ways and means.’

Brackwater quirked an eyebrow at this. Emry gave him a grim smile.

‘Better you don’t know,’ he said.

~

The fever passed. The report, dulled down and made unremarkable, was sent and received without comment. Zachary began to meet regularly with Mender Brackwater, and as the months went by Emry could see his confidence begin to grow. Gradually – so very gradually – but it was still growth.

Emry maintained cheerful letters with his brother, as well as a number of other acquaintances at court, and encouraged Leonar and Marin to do the same. As he had expected, Zachary had declined to pursue legal recompense against Amigast or Amilton. But that did not stop Emry from pursuing his own, subtler goals. Rumour was a powerful weapon when wielded correctly and he enquired about matters of court – was it true that Prince Amilton was struggling to retain servants? Of course surely his manner and form were so excellent, perhaps it was a false rumour. Thank you so much for granting clarity on this subject, I know his father will be reassured to hear that you think well of his son. Yes, it’s true, the crown prince is under a great deal of pressure.

It had to be done gently, and the results would not be seen for a long time – years, even. But Emry could be patient. Emry could be _extremely_ patient.

~

Even as things began to improve, there were bumps in the road.

It was standard to send someone from the keep to check in with Hillander every so often – usually a council member or senior clerk. A year after Zachary’s instatement as Lord-Governor, however, their regular visitor was someone quite different.

The four of them – Zachary, Marin, Leonar, and Emry – were relaxing in Zachary’s quarters when Zachary, at the window, interrupted the conversation.

‘Lord Leonar, could you inform the housemaster that our guest will need to be staying in the Eastern Suite; the best of everything, please.’

Zachary’s voice was wooden and emotionless. Emry went to the window, concerned. The party making its way through the town was bearing the royal standard – not the true monarch’s version, but the one indicating the heir to the throne.

‘I’m going to break Amigast’s damn arms,’ Emry said without thinking. Marin and Leonar joined him at the window.

‘He _didn’t –_ oh that absolute _bastard._ ’

The others glanced around at Marin in some surprise.

‘What?’ she said. ‘Sometimes ladylike words aren’t appropriate.’

‘Fair,’ said Leonar, swallowing. ‘I’ll go and speak to the housemaster.’

‘Wait,’ Marin said. She put a hand on Zachary’s shoulder and gently turned him around to face the others.

‘Zachary, we are not going to allow you to be alone with him,’ she said firmly. ‘We can’t stop him from staying, but we won’t let him hurt you. I’ll speak to Brackwater so that if needs be you can come down with a mysterious and probably contagious illness; Leonar, you mention to the head of the guard that we will need to increase our security due to the presence of the crown prince, and we’ll spread guards through the keep to make it harder to be unnoticed. Emry, if you can keep up a steady flow of supposedly urgent paperwork for Zachary, we can insist that he has to handle it, that gives him an excuse to leave that is more or less permanent.’

The others nodded; some colour seemed to return to Zachary’s cheeks.

‘Thank you,’ he said quietly.

‘Get going, you two,’ Emry said. ‘Zachary and I will go down to the formal greeting, try to join us if you can.’

Leonar and Marin hurried out. Emry pulled Zachary into a hug and then pulled back, looking him in the eyes.

‘We are here, and we are on your side,’ he said firmly. ‘This isn’t Sacor City. The only risk here is that Marin _really_ loses her temper and actually sets him on fire.’

Zachary gave a shaky laugh, and then with some effort schooled his features to a professional neutral.

‘Lord Emry, I believe we should go and greet our guest,’ he said quietly.

‘Lord Zachary, I agree. After you.’

~

A week of tension. A week of carefully orchestrated distractions, of I’m-terribly-sorry-Lord-Zachary-could-you-attend-to-this-urgent-matter, of entirely faked leaks in sleeping quarters which provided a reason for Zachary to be as far across the keep from Amilton as possible – a week of absolute refusal, and it was all over. Amilton was returned to Sacor City Keep (and not “lightly toasted” as Marin suggested on several occasions with a distinctly serious tone), and life in Hillander returned, more or less, to normal.

And time passed, as it tends to.

There were no further visits from the crown prince. Zachary did not know how this had been arranged, but suspected Emry’s hand in it.

Zachary grew into his position, watching his cousin’s children grow and helping his province prosper. He gained a good reputation with the other Lord-Governors, despite rarely seeing them – Emry usually travelled to Sacor City in his stead for grand council meetings, Emry claiming the desire to spend time with his brother now that ‘the young people were beginning to take charge’. This was accepted without comment.

On one of these journeys, Emry managed to quietly obtain Zachary’s original mender file and copy it to be brought back to Hillander. It made for grim reading, but they were glad to have it in hand.

Zachary’s reputation was unremarkable (deliberately so), but also spotless. Amilton’s did not seem to fare so well. His attitude to those he outranked, once easy to conceal within the confines of the royal quarters, was spilling over to the wider court. As many ladies avoided his attentions as vied for them. And there were other, uglier rumours circulating. King Amigast may have been a busy man, but he was not a stupid one. And there were some things that he could not ignore.

~

Lord Zachary had been Lord-Governor of Hillander for thirteen years when everything changed.

‘Green Rider bearing a message from King Amigast,’ called the herald. Zachary looked up, a slight tension in his chest but otherwise calm. Even all these years later, he did not like to hear from his father. But years of work with Brackwater and the others had take away a great deal of the fear.

The Rider who bowed as she reached him was unfamiliar. Young. Around the age he had been when he had come here, he noticed. He took the letter from her and unsealed it, noting the “urgent” marker on the corner.

Emry had noticed the marker too, and understood that the meeting would be paused while Zachary dealt with this matter. He took the opportunity to sip his tea and observe the rest of the table. Leonar and Marin opposite him; the chief of clerks and her two assistants. Zachary, staring at the letter in his hand. Zachary, the blood draining from his face.

‘My lord?’ Emry said quietly, concerned, but mindful of the clerks and servants.

‘I’m afraid this meeting will need to be suspended; we will reconvene later this afternoon; I will notify you. Thank you, Rider, I will summon you to return my response later today.’

With that Zachary was on his feet and out of the room, the rest of the meeting breaking up in confusion.

Emry, Marin, and Leonar eventually found him near the top of the keep, gazing out across the landscape, the letter still gripped tightly in one hand.

‘Zachary, what is it?’ Marin asked.

There was a long pause, but the others had long-since learned to give Zachary time.

‘Father is dying,’ he said quietly, speaking more to the wind than anything else. ‘He was unwell over the winter and has not recovered. The menders suspect he has only a few weeks. I am summoned to Sacor City Keep to be with my family and assist with the ascension of the new king when the time comes.’

He felt as though the wind was not just in the air – it was passing through him, roaring through a hollow torso and skull until it drowned out almost everything else. His old plans for escape, relics of a childhood he had left behind, echoed in his mind, but he knew they were hopeless. This was the moment he had been dreading for as long as he could remember. Amilton would take the throne. And there would be no more escape.

Distantly, he knew that it was different now. They were older. It was not impossible to hold a king to account – easier, almost, than to restrain a crown prince who had the full backing of the monarch. But it was difficult to hold onto that, in this moment.

‘You don’t have to go. We could find some excuse – you could disappear. If that’s what you want. Cross the border.’

Leonar, of course. Cutting across everyone’s worry, going straight to the practical solution. But Zachary knew what his decision would be. Had known for a long time now.

‘I will go,’ he said quietly.

‘You don’t have to –’

‘I know,’ he said, turning to face them. ‘And that is why I can. This is my province. And these are my people. I know what my brother is capable of, and I cannot in good conscience walk away from it.’ He hesitated. ‘Will you – will you come with me?’

Emry put a hand on his shoulder, pride and worry in his expression.

‘Of course.’


	3. All That We Stand For

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After much delay, it's finally finished! Hope you enjoy.

As they approached the keep, Zachary recalled leaving it for the first time, nearly thirteen years before. He remembered his first impressions of Hillander, and the people there. What did he know now?

Uncle Emry: steady, intelligent, with a wealth of experience behind him. A rock solid support, and the best of fathers.

Cousin Leonar: a louder, less experienced version of his father. Prone to being angry on behalf of the people he loved; fiercely defensive.

Cousin Marin: kind to people, but with an unflinching moral sense and a knack for finding out about anything. A streak of mischief; determined and loving.

Chief Mender Tommin Brackwater: thoughtful and calm; observant and unforgiving of cruelty.

Despite the weather and their destination, Zachary smiled faintly to himself. Whatever came next, he had his family behind him. And that would make all the difference.

~

Sacor City keep was bustling with people and thrumming with an odd, low tension. Zachary thought he could almost feel it in his bones. Waiting for the moment of change.

Their party were greeted by a face unexpectedly familiar to Zachary.

‘Laren Mapstone?’ he said, surprised.

The red-haired woman was older than he remembered her but otherwise unchanged – the same firm set to her face and sharp, observant eyes. He noted the style of the uniform and corrected himself.

‘Captain, now, I see.’

‘Yes, my lord. Two years now.’

‘Congratulations,’ he said with genuine warmth.

‘Thank you, my lord.’

Her voice was formal, but Zachary thought he saw the smile in her eyes. She had been friendly to him when he had lived here, and he had not realised he had missed her. She had never known the full extent of his troubles, but had always been ready and willing to talk to the younger prince about anything that came to mind – the weather on the road, what the sky looked like when you slept under it at night, food in difference provinces, tricks for finding shelter. He had loved those conversations, the way she treated him as a friend.

But they could not linger here.

~

Amilton had not been there to greet them, but it wasn’t long before they encountered him. He was trailed by a handful of courtiers, and welcomed them all in a flurry of perfect court manners performed for show. If he sounded a little cold, it would be put down to grief – and the sharpness in his eyes was only for Zachary.

‘It’s been very busy of course, all the Lord Governors have arrived – you’re actually last. There will be a lot to do, and –’

‘We’re the same height.’ Zachary’s interruption almost made Leonar jump in surprise; he had been so focused on Amilton. He kept his expression steady and looked from Zachary to Amilton. They were, indeed, the same height.

‘What?’

Amilton looked confused and his tone was uncertain; this was not, Leonar could tell, how he had expected the conversation to go. But he shook it off, flapping a hand at his younger brother dismissively.

‘You’ll have to be at the dinner tonight. And father is speaking to the court tomorrow. Do try to keep up.’

The elder prince turned dismissively and headed off down the corridor, entourage in tow. Leonar exchanged a glance with Marin. Zachary’s expression was thoughtful.

‘Shall we get up to the Hillander Quarters, Zachary?’ Marin asked. ‘We don’t have much time before dinner to settle in.’

Zachary nodded vaguely, and led the way up the corridor to the guest quarters they had been allocated.

~

Breakfast the next day was quiet, for which Zachary was grateful. It was odd; sitting with Emry and Marin and Leonar, he could almost forget he was in Sacor City. And then he’d hear the bells or glance outside or notice the stonework again (Sacor Keep was D’Yer-built, unlike the Hillander keep) and realise, with a jerk, just where he was.

It was also not as frightening as he had thought it would be. The place didn’t exactly seem smaller (it would be hard for a keep that size to ever seem small in any context) but it felt more… manageable. Stern, certainly, and as forbidding as he remembered; but he also found himself remembering the pieces about it he had liked. The way the corridors tangled around themselves, making every walk through them oddly intriguing. The way the light streamed into the entrance hall from the narrow glass at the top. The view from the window, the way it drew the eye down Winding Way and then off into the Green Cloak. Home but not home. The home he had wanted to feel like home for so long, but never had. Now no longer full of terror, more… unpleasantness. Strange. He felt more as though he had a right to be here than he ever had when he had lived here.

~

Court was fully attended, Zachary noticed as he entered. Every Lord-Governor and their spouse was present; many of them had their firstborns with them. Zachary recognised the eldest D’Yer boy – Alton, was it? – and old Lord Penburn’s daughter and son-in-law. He thought he knew why. This transition was an important time. Most of the current Lord-Governors were in their sixties. Their children would take their positions under Amilton’s reign, and it was fitting that they be present to see it start.

_Amilton’s reign._

Zachary pushed that thought firmly to the back of his mind. The important thing was to be nondescript, quiet and useful. If Amilton went in an aberrant direction – and Zachary could hardly believe he wouldn’t – Hillander and its current Lord-Steward would be a primary target. He needed to do what he could to secure as much as possible, before the inevitable time when he would need to disappear.

The king entered with his small council, and the room bowed. Straightening up, Zachary saw his father for the first time in over twelve years.

Amigast was a lot thinner than Zachary remembered; but long illness will do that to a person. He still had most of his old presence, but he kept his movements cautious as though they caused him pain. Perhaps they did. Zachary, watching him take his place on the throne, wasn’t sure that he felt much at all. Nervousness, obviously. A shadow of that same fear of being told off that he had lived with for sixteen years. No affection. No real grief. Just a sort of detached distaste.

‘My lords and ladies of the court, thank you for attending,’ the king began. As usual, he didn’t sound grateful at all, but it was the traditional phrase for opening an event like this. ‘As you are all aware, my health has declined and I am told I have little time left. A matter of weeks at the most.’ He paused to take a few breaths and steady himself before speaking again. ‘Amilton, please come forward.’

Prince Amilton walked forward into the centre of the room, gave his father a formal bow, and then stood upright. He was a commanding presence, Zachary could have seen that even if he had never met Amilton before; he held his chin high, but his facial expression was sombre, as befitted a son considering the loss of a beloved father. Did Amilton think of their father like that? Zachary had never been able to work that out. Amilton never seemed to have any real affection for anyone, but then if he did he would hardly have shared it with his hated little brother. Zachary tried to stay focused.

‘Amilton, you are my first son. My eldest. You have been the source of much pride for me, over the years. Your manner, your suggestions, your hard work on behalf of this kingdom.’

Amigast paused to allow for a murmur of agreement to sweep the room. But behind Zachary, Emry noticed that none of the lord governors had joined in, and more than one of them was watching Amigast with narrowed eyes. What had they heard?

‘You have been everything a son should be. And yet… you are still young. And the end of my reign comes far earlier than we ever expected.’

Amilton bowed his head in respectful agreement before returning his attentive gaze to his father. Zachary tried to relax his shoulders, but the tension wouldn’t leave him. It was going to happen.

‘You are still a young man. Against my better judgement, and wise council, I wished to preserve that time of freedom for you. You have excelled, in many ways. But in many ways, still, I worry.’

The room was quiet. A few people were frowning, trying to work out where the king was going with this.

‘I do not wish to over-burden you. I do not wish anything upon you that would cause you distress or difficulty. I wish, indeed, for you to be able to live in the best way that you can. And I know well what a burden the ruling of a country can be.’

Amigast Hillander took a moment to regain his breath properly, observing Amilton carefully. The prince maintained his composure, but Zachary saw the slight tension in his stance. What would Amilton be worried about? Where was their father taking this speech?

‘And so, after much consideration – much discussion with my council, much wise advice from here in Sacor City – I have decided to release you from this burden. The crown will pass over you and go to your younger brother, Zachary.’

Later, Marin would tell Zachary about the way the colour drained from Amilton’s face, the way the crowd of nobility all seemed to take in a breath at the same moment, widen their eyes all at once – but in the moment, all Zachary perceived was the beating of his own heart and his father’s words echoing over and over in his mind. _The crown will pass over you and go to your younger brother, Zachary._

_The crown… will go to your brother, Zachary._

_Zachary._

‘Zachary, go to the centre.’ Leonar’s mutter was accompanied by a gentle prod in the back that no one else probably noticed, and Zachary startled back into the real world. His father was looking at him. He must have called him forward. Zachary made his way to the centre spot, feeling as though his whole body had gone numb. This was _impossible_.

When he reached the centre of court, he bowed, grateful for the reflex, and waited for his father to speak again. Next to him, only inches away, he could feel Amilton’s anger like a boiling pot.

‘Zachary,’ Amigast said, nodding in his direction. ‘You have been tireless in your work as Lord-Governor of Hillander Province. I receive nothing but good reports about you. I and the council feel that the reign of the country will be more than safe in your hands, and I trust that you will fully appreciate your responsibilities – towards your people, towards your province-lords, towards your family.’

Even stunned as he was, Zachary picked up the implications in that last phrase. A warning; Amilton was still the favoured child, and he was expected to take care of him. _Of course_.

‘I do, father,’ he said, inclining his head. ‘I thank you for this honour.’

_Was that the right thing to say? Is there really any etiquette here? There must be some kind of precedent but it can hardly be common knowledge –_

‘My sons – my lord governors – my lords and ladies – thank you for your attendance. I am afraid that my energy is spent. I must rest. Amilton, Zachary, I will summon you both tomorrow. I call this gathering to a close.’

They stood patiently and quietly while Amigast was helped from the throne and out of the room. Zachary hardly dared move. He could feel the eyes of the room on him and wondered how shocked he looked. Once the king had left, the whispering began; but it was cut short as Amilton turned to look at Zachary. Zachary met his eyes, feeling the baseline of terror he was so familiar with push his heart to beat faster, faster. But Amilton said nothing. He just stared at his younger brother in fury, and then turned and stormed out of the room. He had slammed the door behind him before the servants could even reach for it.

‘Prince Zachary?’

Zachary looked around in a daze.

Devon Wainwright, one of his father’s councillors, stood before him.

‘Yes?’ he managed.

‘If it is acceptable to you, the small council would like to meet with you now,’ she said steadily. ‘You will need to be brought up to speed on expected processes.’

He nodded, then remembered to speak again.

‘Of course,’ he said. She bowed, and then turned to lead the way out of the hall. As they left, Zachary realised that he had picked up a shadow – a Black Shield was walking a few steps behind him. _Right. That’s… yes. Right. Naturally._

He tried to remember his lessons as a distraction from the shock he felt. Most people knew that the Black Shields guarded the royal family, and that was true. But primarily they guarded the monarch, the monarch’s consort, and the first in line to the throne. Younger children were only granted a personal guard until they were sixteen, unless the monarch ordered otherwise. And personal guards did not attend inside the Royal Quarters unless you were the monarch. Or… was that only for younger children? There was some distinction drawn between default Black Shield practices and what they could be ordered to do by the monarch, and Zachary wasn’t clear on it these days. He didn’t need to be. _I do now_. _I’ll need to know._

As they reached the small council chamber, Zachary forced himself back into focus. _Don’t think about the big picture yet. They’ll want to talk through the process of you taking over your father’s role. Treat it like any other system analysis, break it down, make sure you understand. Ask questions. Then you can go back to Emry and Leonar and Marin, and deal with the big picture._

Relying almost entirely (and gratefully) on years of practice, he greeted each of the small council, going over what he remembered of their roles in his mind.

Honourable Councillor Devon Wainwright, nominated Black Shield; responsible for all keep security, and in charge of the Order of the Black Shields, both above and below ground.

Castellan Crowe, in charge of the administrative side of the keep, with the Honourable Councillor Sperren as his second.

Captain Laren Mapstone, Green Rider – Zachary remembered her from his childhood at the keep and gave her a small smile. Fiery red hair, quick to get the point. Advice on the mood of the kingdom – Green Riders were always the ones to hear the voice of the people more bluntly.

General Harborough, a blustery man that Zachary had little knowledge of; responsible for the wider security of the realm, and head of the Sacoridian Army.

He was also introduced to a man of about his own age who bowed in the manner of a servant.

‘This is Master Rethum,’ Castellen Crowe said. ‘He has been chosen by Housemaster Krey as his successor. He would not usually be part of small council meetings, but is here in order to be made aware of the expectations over the next few weeks.’

Zachary nodded. Of course. The royal housemaster (or mistress) usually changed when the monarch did. When he took up his position, Housemaster Rethum would be in charge of the household servants and the maintenance of the royal quarters. He would also be responsible for organising the coronation.

He blinked. They were waiting for something. Oh, of course.

‘Please, do sit down,’ he said, and took his own seat – after a moment’s hesitation, and a minute nod from Captain Mapstone – at the head of the table. _My father’s seat_.

He wrenched his mind back on topic.

Thankfully, Councillor Wainwright led the meeting, seemingly aware that Zachary would not be prepared for it. Zachary took his own notes as he always did (to the slight surprise of the clerk behind him who was there for that very purpose), and tried to get his head around everything without becoming overwhelmed.

At the end of the meeting, Zachary felt a little calmer. This was… fine. It was just the same as working in Hillander, except with new people and a few new processes. They were the same _type_ of processes. He could deal with this. He requested summary reports from each councillor by next week, and had a list of areas of research to begin work on, as well as a rough timetable for the next month or so. Having received an indication from Councillor Wainwright that the meeting was over, he gave the formal closing words, and the councillors left.

Master Rethum remained behind; of course, he would have questions. Zachary stayed seated and gave the man a faint smile.

‘Master Rethum. What information do you need from me to help you work smoothly?’ he asked.

Rethum smiled and took a short list from his folder of papers.

‘Only a few matters, Prince Zachary. The most urgent at the moment being the date of your move to the Royal Quarters.’

Zachary felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. Being made king was one thing (and even that he had yet to think of as more than hypothetical) but this…

‘Of course it would be indecorous to rush,’ Rethum continued, ‘but most heirs to the throne already reside in the royal quarters by the time of their ascension, and I do not believe it would be inappropriate to begin arranging the matter. I will also need to know if you wish to remain in your original rooms, move into what will be your royal chamber, or make some other arrangement.’

_You will never have to go back there._

‘No.’

‘Your highness?’

Zachary focused on his breathing, shutting Rethum out for the time being. _My life is mine to command. My safety is provided for me. My choices matter. My family are near._

He repeated the words inside his head a few times until he felt calmer. Then he met Rethum’s eyes and gave him another faint smile. The man looked concerned.

‘I apologise, it has been something of a… an unexpected day,’ he said. ‘Could you leave those questions with me for me to respond to tomorrow? I won’t be requiring much in the next two or three days, and I’m sure you’re busy.’

Rethum still looked a little worried, but he smoothed out his expression and gave a polite nod.

‘Of course, your highness.’

Zachary felt unreal as he walked back to the Hillander quarters, everything around him as insubstantial as cloud. He entered without knocking, and remembered just in time to tell the Black Shield to remain outside the door. When it shut behind him, he saw that Emry, Leonar, Marin, and Tommin had all been waiting for him.

‘Oh, _Zachary_ ,’ Marin breathed; and then Emry was there and Zachary was swept into a hug that seemed like the first solid thing he’d felt since the announcement.

~

The next few weeks were a blur. In later years, he would only pick out a few odd moments that he remembered clearly.

‘Councillor Wainwright, sir.’

‘Show her in, please.’

Councillor Wainwright entered, bowed, and took the seat opposite him at his gesture.

‘Councillor?’ Zachary said, trying to organise his thoughts. ‘What can I help you with?’

‘Prince Zachary, I understand there was an altercation between yourself and Prince Amilton earlier?’

_Who told you?_

But she must have read the question in his expression, because she gave him the answer immediately.

‘Shields keep your privacy absolutely, but as you are not yet monarch they report breaches of their protection to me unless instructed otherwise. The persons present were concerned with checking the protocol for when to intercede between two royal princes.’

She cleared her throat.

‘I appreciate this must be a difficult time,’ she said carefully. ‘And Prince Amilton is… obviously struggling. But we cannot allow his behaviour to endanger you in any way. We would like to ask you to refrain from meeting with him without a Shield present in the room, in case his temper gets the better of him again.’

The words and tone were perfectly diplomatic, but Zachary caught the smallest flicker in her expression. She did not approve of Amilton. And she did not trust him. That was… oddly reassuring. At least he had councillors with a pair of eyes of their own. And it was good to have confirmation that the small council – at least, members of it – had been wholly on board with the decision to pass over Amilton.

‘Thank you, councillor,’ he said. ‘I appreciate your concern, and I think you are quite right. I should not have left the Shield outside, and I will not in future.’ He shifted position slightly and wondered what else to say. Emry had suggested that coming clean to at least Councillor Wainwright about his childhood might gain him a stronger ally, but Zachary wasn’t sure that would be necessary. Or appropriate.

‘If there is anything else I can help you with, your highness, please let me know.’

‘I will. Thank you again. You are dismissed.’

Councillor Wainwright stood, bowed again, and left. Zachary sat back in his chair. He tried to parse his feelings.

Amilton was still frightening, no doubt about that. But he felt considerably bolstered by the support around him. So, he’d got in one swing. It didn’t have to happen again. If he really wanted to, he could not see Amilton again except for at the funeral and the coronation. The difference that small measure of power made was astounding.

Gently, he probed his own feelings on the subject. Was he still frightened of his older brother?

Yes, but not in the same way as he had been for. That had been terror, blind terror, the fear of the powerless beside the powerful. A little of that remained in his head, but it was manageable. What he really felt when he thought about Amilton was closer to wariness. Amilton was and would always be a threat. That had not changed.

But Zachary had.

~

Of course, this sort of thing is rarely linear.

‘Leonar, I can’t do this, _I can’t do this –_ ’

‘Hey, hey, easy.’ Leonar came to him immediately and pulled him into a hug. ‘Take it easy. All right.’

‘I c-can’t, I… I just…’

‘All right.’

They stood like that for a few minutes, Zachary letting his head rest on Leonar’s shoulder and trying to steady himself. It had been ten days since the funeral; five since the coronation.

‘Sorry,’ he said after a little while, pulling back. Leonar shook his head, his expression sympathetic.

‘Nothing to apologise for,’ he said. ‘This is… well, to say it’s “a bit much” is an understatement. Anything particular I can help with? You want me to stay here for a bit while you work?’

‘I wouldn’t mind the company,’ Zachary confessed. ‘Sitting in here, I keep thinking Amilton’s going to just walk in – and –’ He cut himself off. But Leonar would understand anyway.

‘Makes sense,’ he said. ‘But there’s plenty of us around. Amilton isn’t going to try anything, not now. He’s settled outside the royal quarters, and the Shields won’t let him in without your permission.’

Zachary nodded. He knew that, but it was reassuring to hear it said aloud by another person.

‘I hate that he’s going to be in Hillander,’ he said softly, though without much feeling. They’d had this conversation so many times now.

‘It wouldn’t be a good start, dismissing your father’s last instructions,’ Leonar said, almost by rote. ‘And it’s good to have him somewhere we can keep an eye on him. Somewhere he won’t be breathing down your neck. Bad enough that you have to live here.’

Zachary grimaced. He’d still not officially moved into the royal bedchamber, such as it was. Instead he was sleeping in a lesser-used guest room in the Royal Quarters, and avoiding the rest of it.

‘Sometimes it doesn’t… sometimes it doesn’t matter at all,’ he said. ‘I can walk about and know I’m an adult, I’ve changed, I control this place now. It doesn’t have to frighten me. But other times… other times it’s like being trapped in a nightmare. I thought I’d escaped this place, and now I wake up here every day.’

Leonar hummed his sympathy. Zachary turned away.

‘Nevertheless, perhaps the former will eventually outweigh the latter.’

‘One can hope.’

~

Several days later, Zachary was enjoying a quiet hour with Leonar, Marin and Emry, when there was a knock on the door.

‘Come,’ Zachary called.

Housemaster Rethum entered, bowed, and came to his customary position in front of Zachary’s desk.

‘Housemaster,’ Zachary said. ‘What can I help you with?’

‘I’m afraid I must give a formal apology, sire.’

Zachary’s expression stayed neutral; Emry exchanged surprised glances with Leonar and Marin.

‘Regarding what matter, housemaster?’ Zachary asked steadily.

Rethum paused, and seemed to steel himself.

‘Sire, it is a natural consequence of a servant’s work that one will, occasionally, come across matters that are personal to one’s employer inadvertently. The usual etiquette is to not only say nothing to anyone else, but to say nothing on the matter to one’s employer, either. To do otherwise is crass, and presumptuous.’ Rethum raised his chin slightly. ‘However, I feel under these circumstances that my best decision may be to share what I have overheard – in this case, your conversation with Lord Leonar three days ago.’

Zachary felt as though ice had trickled down his spine. Why would Rethum break his servant’s silence on this? Why had he been listening at all? Zachary wondered what his housemaster thought of his king, now. Now that he had heard him bereft of all bearing and spine.

‘Explain,’ he said softly, his voice cold.

Rethum swallowed.

‘The matter is – the heart of the matter, the, ah, reason for my –’ He stopped himself, and began again. ‘Truth be told, sir, if my language may be excused, my father was an absolute bastard and if I had to go back and live in the house that I grew up in I rather think I would set it on fire.’

Zachary blinked. Behind Rethum, in the corner of the room, Marin put a hand over her mouth to hide what might just have been a grin.

‘I understand that your circumstances do not allow for such extreme measures. Instead, I have taken the liberty of making a list of all possible options for change in the Royal Quarters. If you will permit me, I will ensure that it becomes as different as is possible. Of course, your majesty is able to purchase new items, but in the interim I have investigated the storerooms, and there are a great many furnishings that I do not believe have been used in your lifetime. It would not be difficult for us to install these in the place of current items as a temporary or permanent measure, if that would please you. There are also a number of doors and corridors not currently in use, which I believe could be refreshed to serve as main routes and therefore alter the layout of the quarters in experience if not in fact.’

Rethum took a breath, moistened his lips, and in the absence of anyone else interrupting, spoke on.

‘The only area that I believe is somewhat lacking in my work so far is the idea of more… structural changes. I am not permitted access to architectural plans for the keep, and so was unable to see how much scope there is for change, should your majesty wish to achieve that nature of action. But I have noted it as a possible avenue of investigation.’

He stopped again. The room was still silent. The three Hillanders were watching Zachary, who was staring at Rethum with an expression of unsuppressed surprise. Marin cleared her throat pointedly, and Zachary seemed to refocus.

‘May I see this list?’ he asked.

Rethum obligingly handed it over, and Zachary perused it.

‘This is… amazingly thorough,’ he said, half to himself. ‘I… thank you, housemaster. This is… yes.’

Rethum relaxed, and Zachary, without realising, smiled a little.

~

Three weeks later, with Leonar, Marin, Emry and Amilton packed off to Hillander (the latter with his now ever-present sneer firmly in place), the keep was quiet again and it was time for Zachary to move into his more permanent rooms.

They walked a less familiar route through the quarters. Zachary noticed that in many of the corridors, hangings had been taken down or rearranged. Several open doors showed cleared rooms with their windows wide open to air them.

It was like walking through a dream, almost – where the world is different but the same but different again.

‘I’ve been working on different ways of decorating areas,’ Housemaster Rethum said as they walked. ‘I know you were content to simply focus on a small number of rooms to start with, which has certainly made this work faster and simpler. But I have been keeping track of what has been moved. If you would like more personal input, it would be helpful for us to have a little time to discuss your preferences in more detail.’

‘Of course,’ Zachary said, still absorbed in the strangeness of his surroundings. ‘I imagine it would be difficult to avoid battle scenes in tapestry, for example.’

Rethum gave a small smile.

‘Without purchasing new hangings, I think we will rather reach our limit between the bedroom and the sitting room. But there are still some stored items I have not got to yet, so we may be lucky.’

They reached the entrance to the royal bedroom. He steadied himself internally as Rethum opened the door and then stepped out of the way.

Zachary walked in.

The floor was covered with soft rugs in black and deep blues and purples; Zachary suspected that the bed was the same one, if only because it would have been virtually impossible to get out of the room without destroying, but the curtains around it matched the floor and the sheets were clean white under a black throw embroidered with silver points. But the most striking thing about it was that it had been moved from the centre of the room to a corner, against the wall. Completely inappropriate by class standards – but much preferable to Zachary.

He took a step further into the room, and gazed around, picking out more details.

The walls were covered in hangings, but not the usual battle or hunting scenes. That was when Zachary realised Rethum’s theme for the room – the hangings all depicted _constellations_ , white and silver on the dark colours of the night sky.

He felt the smile grow on his face.

‘Rethum, this is beautiful,’ he said, with genuine warmth in his voice, still taking it in. ‘Where on earth did you find the hangings?’

‘I believe they were made for your great-great-great grandmother, your majesty,’ he said. ‘The records indicate she had a great love of astronomy. And I noted that you had at least a passing interest yourself – and it was, I confess, the only topic that we had enough material on besides hunting and fighting. I rather thought these might be more restful.’

‘It’s _perfect_ ,’ Zachary said. He turned to the housemaster.

‘Thank you, Rethum,’ he said. ‘This really is wonderful.’

Rethum went a little pink around the ears and bowed.

‘You are very welcome, your majesty,’ he said. ‘My thought was to use the stored furnishings to alter firstly your room here and then two or three rooms you are likely to use the most – perhaps your study, and the private study, and the sitting room?’

Zachary nodded, turning to take in the room again. He felt warm right to the core, as though he had stepped into sunlight.

‘The study,’ he said suddenly, struck by a thought.

‘Yes, sire?’

Zachary turned back to Rethum.

‘This may sound odd,’ he said. ‘But I would be quite content if we simply stripped the main study down, for now. Took out father’s things – put them in storage, I’ll work out what to do with them later – took down the hangings, all that sort of thing. Reduce it to a functional space. It would be faster than finding a way to redecorate it; and then I can think about what to do with it for a little while.’

Rethum nodded.

‘Of course, sire.’

Zachary stood there for some minutes after Rethum had left, feeling his shoulders creep down just that little bit further, his muscles relax just that little bit more. Slow-going, certainly. And a long way to go yet. But the end was, perhaps, in sight. Right on the edge of the horizon.

~

Of course, other things happened. Tremendously important things, and terrible ones. Things like: the arrival of the delegation from the Cloud Islands. Things like: the furious diplomats and their leashed anger standing before King Zachary. Things like: the blank-faced girl and the dark, glinting eyes of Prince Amilton. Things like a firm decision in the council chambers and _this will not stand_ and a cold declaration before the whole court, the look in Amilton’s eyes going from smug to disbelieving to livid to sheer, paralysing shock.

Court moved on, of course – court intrigue and gossip was nothing if not fast-moving, and much more interested in the tawdry and mostly legal activities of people who were nearly in earshot.

Zachary waited, and counted the days.

When he knew they had to have crossed the border, he took the evening to himself, and spent it by the fire in the study that was now more his than not. He thought back, to all the Zacharys that had lived here. All the Amiltons. He walked the corridors of the Royal Quarters, and by the time he reached his rooms, he knew it was over.

A new chapter was beginning.

And it would be like nothing before it.


	4. Epilogue

_Dear all,_

_I write to you as your close cousin, to share with you a piece of news that must be kept a close secret: I am, very tentatively, engaged. Not tentative in the genuine nature of the feelings involved; but tentative as something that may struggle for acceptance must be. The lady in question is not of the nobility, but of a wealthy merchant’s family. Said family is in support, despite the difficulties this may cause them with their fellow merchants (and I promise I am being cautious of greed, but there seems to be no grasping in them save in their desire for their daughter’s happiness). After some discussion, the small council (that are present, of course – Laren, Colin, and Sperren) are also in agreement. I am at the start of a six month plan to judge (and hopefully adjust to my favour) the political climate, at the end of which those of us in the know will judge how feasible it is to go forward more publically. You know that I hold all your opinions to be valuable, and if you wish to caution me against this I promise I shall listen with due respect – though I cannot promise to agree._

_Difficulties of status and politics aside, I am both cautiously optimistic and wildly hopeful. You would probably be laughing at me as much as I suspect Laren wants to these days – she says I am smitten, which I find to be a tad condescending if probably, objectively, accurate. The lady in question has held my admiration for some time, and it seems to be mutual, a thought that confounds and delights me. I find myself wishing that our family’s status held no weight, so that I could simply introduce us all and be joyful. I’m sure I sound quite ridiculous – I promise I am being much more reserved and wary than this letter indicates, it is only that I feel freer to express myself to the three of you. I must finish this letter now, or it will delay the messenger’s other duties. I hope you will write soon._

_Your cousin,_

_Zachary_


End file.
